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Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the dif
ference Betwixt the confant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him ; but, for my part, I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him; For what had he to do to chide at me ? He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black : And, now I am remembred, scorn'd at me; I marvel, why I anfwer'd not again; But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou Silvius ?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe. I'll write it straight;
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.
Pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
with thee. Rof. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
Rof. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad, and say nothing.
Rof. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the foldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objeds, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humourous sadness.
Rof. A traveller! by my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd me experience.
Enter Orlando. Rof. And your experience makes you fad: I had rather have a fool io make me merry, than experience to make me sad, and to travel for it too.
Orla. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind !
Jaq. Nay, then God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verse.
lisp, and wear strange fuits; disable all'the benefits of your own Country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think, you have swam in a Gondola. Why, how now, Orlando, where have you been all this while ? You a lover? an you
serve such another trick, never come in my sight more.
Orla. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ! he that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part
of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be faid fof him, that Cupid hath clapt him o'th' houlder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.
Orla. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Ros. Nay, án you be so tardy, come no more in my fight: I had as lief be wood of a snail.
Orla. Of a snail?
Rof. Ay, of a snail; for tho' he comes flowly, he carries his house on his head: a better jointure, I think, than you make a-woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him.
Orla. What's that?
Rof. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the flander of his wife.
Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
Rof. And I am your Rosalind.
Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.
Rof. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent: what would you say to me now, an I were your very, very Rosalind?
Orla. I would kiss, before I spoke. Rof. Nay, you were better speak first, and 'when you were gravell’d for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking, God warn us, matter, the cleanlieft shift is to kiss.
Orla. How if the kiss be denied ?
Rof. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.
Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?
Rof. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. Orla. What, of
fuit ? Rof. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your fuit. Am not I your Rosalind ?
Orla. I take some joy to say, you are; because I would be talking of her.
Rof. Well, in her person, I say, I will not have you. Orla. Then in mine own person I die.
Rof. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almost fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause: Troilus had his brains dalh'd out with a Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, tho' Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was,-Hero of Seftos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
Orla. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for I protest, her frown might kill me.
Rof. By this hand, it will not kill a fly; but come; now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it.
Orla. Then love me, Rosalind. Rof. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all.
Orla. And wilt thou have me?
thing ? come, fifter, you shall be the priest, and marry us.
Give me your hand, Orlando : what do you say, Sifter ?
Orla. Pray thee, marry us.
Cel. Go to; will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?
Orla. I will
Rof. Then you must say, I take thee Rosalind for wife.
Orla. I take thee Rosalind for wife.
Rof. I might ask you for your commission, but I do take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest, and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions.
Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.
Rof. Now tell me, how long would you have her, after you have pofleft her,
Orla. For ever and a day.
Rof. Say a day, without the ever: no, no, Orlando, men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives; I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey; I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain; and I will do that, when you are dispos’d to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclin'd to weep. Orla. But will my Rosalind do so? Rof. By my life, she will do as I do. Orla. O, but she is wise.
* and that when you are inclin'd to deep. We should read, to weep.